


Walking Home

by PunishedhagTwitterBadposter



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Gen, Introspection, Letters, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Sad, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:21:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29060481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedhagTwitterBadposter/pseuds/PunishedhagTwitterBadposter
Summary: Emet-Selch writes a letter to a certain someone on a warm day in Amaurot. Spoilers for Shadowbringers 5.0 and onward, but mostly 5.0I wrote this originally to make a friend cry over Emet and wrote it in like 40 minutes, but people told me I should post it here. Not expecting anything from it but hey, it was a fun writing excercise.https://punishedhag.wordpress.com/2021/01/28/walking-home-ffxiv-emet-selch-x-wol-fanfiction-short/also posted on my blog if you care about that sort of thing.
Relationships: Azem/Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 9





	Walking Home

\---------------------------

Amaurot. XXXX years ago.

It’s warm. Unusually so, I might say. Though our city has stood firm against a series of unexpected disasters this year, held in carefully-controlled stasis by the guiding hand of the Convocation, the slight failure of the weather to behave as it should has left an unsettling feeling amongst the people. From the Polyleritae to Anchora Heights whispers of concern and stifled comments mark the passing of the calendar. Oh how I do not envy my companions. A gentle hand on the shoulder of a stranger, a few words of compassion in a sub-committee’s ear. It’s not for me, you know.

Instead, I await you as I ever do. Here in my personal chambers; windows wide and chairs arranged. While the seat of Emet-Selch is rather prestigious it does not come with any further privilege in terms of wealth, as is the way of Amaurot. But it is good enough for me. Not for any mere property of the room itself, but… because of the times spent within it. Oh, I can imagine you rolling your eyes. Am I being sentimental over nights of drunken revelry? Of dancing to the music drifting up from the streets? Of chilled mornings and shared anecdotes? Emet-Selch, Convocation head of sappy reminiscing? Pah. Perhaps I am such a person. ‘Twould explain why I’m sitting here, alone, knowing that you won’t be joining me.

I know you’ve been spending less time on our shores. The world calls to you, and so you wander. I admire you, your bluntness, your stoic nods and pointed one-liners. I do so miss our talks. Amaurot stands unblemished, but perhaps a mark less familiar in your absence. My friends, my brothers. My sister. I do not know if you’ll ever read this missive, but I’ve left it here in your chair. I must return to our work. Do try to visit sometime, Hero. The door is always unlocked. I’m a jealous person, I don’t like to share.

\---------------

The Tempest. XXXX years later.

Silt. Slate. Rock. Muck.

Oxygen bubbles. Sand. Stone.

Bones. Calcium. Coral. Writhing.

I am toiling in darkness. The only light is the aether lamp I conjured and the distant glow of the Ondo’s grottoes. Every step I take along the ocean floor pushes more antediluvian ooze out into the waters around it, muddying the light further and leaving a faint taste of iron and silicate in the dead of my mouth. Fitting, isn’t it? Even for a being of such reality-defying power such as I, walking unhindered along the bottom of the ocean’s depths is a fairly stressful experience. The great pressure of the abyss and the suffusion of organic filth throughout my body is not something any sane being could endure. Only by the grace of Zodiark’s grip upon my will do I survive here.

I spy the glint of something buried. Despite the division of the Sundering the hint, the scent, the aura of my old home drifts my way. I wonder, Hero, did you ever read that letter? Even after all this time I still remember my mewling begging. In fact, I can even remember where it was I wrote it. Though the Tempest was heavily damaged during the Flood of Light I was able to get my bearings on Amaurot’s original layout fairly quickly. Though most of the city is missing, split out across the reflections, I was able to retrace my steps here.

Home.

Of the tower block that once stood high above the streets of my lost utopia, nothing remains but a few degraded, weathered slabs of marble. I cannot even say if they were walls or floors. Did we dance upon them or lean against them? Were I to put my hand against them now I would leave naught but a blood-soaked handprint. You would hate me for what I have done, I am sure. But you were not there to pull me back from the brink, either.

And so once again, I am sitting here. Perhaps this time, you will get my message. It is dark and miserable, but with a bit of magick and some willing self-deception, I shall make it presentable. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I have a new friend now, you know. An all-too-familiar heroic sort, much like you but a trifle more hindered by their split soul. Perhaps I’ll have her reenact your part in our dance.

I suppose I really am sentimental.

END


End file.
